ziggysarcana

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Joy Sullivan, "Teeth", Instructions for Traveling West

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Making friends had always been easy for Vincent, making friends with Charles five years ago had certainly been no exception. Where one cracked joke at the bar turned into a night of shenanigans which turned into a great friendship. They were an unlikely pair, a simple midwestern man and a “fancy financial man”, as Vince would say after one too many shots. It must have been fate for the two of them to meet; just by looking at them during the day, you would never guess how many games of blackjack they played or how many jokes they had shared.

The memory of one of them thrown at Breaking Glass brought a smile to his lips but then his attention was pulled to the knock. He creaked the door open just enough to reveal himself, eyeing up whoever came to see him. At the sight of the aforementioned man, he opened it wider and leaned against the frame, faux causal like he hadn’t been doing much of anything at all. Though the faint scent of Lucas Oil gave him away. He had been cleaning his gun for probably the hundredth time despite the fact that it didn’t really need much of a cleaning anyways. It was just something to do. Vincent’s eyes scanned him with an assessing look. No smile at first, his gaze flickering from the six pack, to his boots and then to his eyes that he thought were definitely too pretty to even be real. The corner of his mouth twitched, into a boyish grin. “Come on in,” he said finally, stepping aside and letting the trailer door swing open wider. The space behind him well lived in after five years. Mismatched mugs in the cabinets, flipped through magazines and his record player humming low. “you clean up awful nice just to come see me.”

Closed starter for Vincent (@ziggysarcana) Location: Vincent's Home

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎As he walked down the path, a six-pack swinging casually at his side, Charles ignored the curious glances from Vincent’s neighbors. Okay - maybe the slacks and open-collared button-down were a bit much for a casual visit, but in his defense, Vincent was hot as fuck, and Charles was never one to pass up an excuse to look good. Besides, dressing up gave him a boost of confidence. His boots crunched softly against the gravel, the late afternoon light catching the edge of his watch and the chain around his neck. Charles let his gaze linger on the house as he approached, lips quirking like he knew he was up to something. The beer was just a peace offering - a flimsy excuse to drop by.

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎He reached the front door, paused to adjust his sleeves, and ran a hand through his hair with an effortless kind of carelessness that was, of course, entirely calculated. He knocked twice, then stepped back, schooling his expression into something casual, easy. When the door opened, he held the 6-pack up, and the cool expression on his face shifted into a grin. "Hey, Vincent. Took me a while, but I brought the beer."

[ziggysarcana]

closed starter

for: @shadowedxcat (addie)

location: outside of Main Street Barber Shop

Being raised in a devout Catholic household, there are certain habits you can pick up. Out of all of them, rising early had to be Vincent’s favorite to keep. Although, he had replaced early morning prayers with his first cup of coffee, and his walk to school was replaced with his drive to work. He always beat the rest of the barbers there, sometimes even the old curmudgeon that owned the place, who oftentimes told him that he had far too much energy for man his age.

Being too early, sometimes it did have his perks. Like it did this particular day. His hands were busy preparing his station for his first client but his eyes were languid, gliding across the almost empty street— when he spotted a friend. A newer friend, of a couple of months, by the name of Addie. A couple of months, but he found himself being able to relate to her more than a lot of people. A conclusion he had came to after one night of one too many shots and “no way, me too!”’s.

Which is why he felt comfortable to abandon the task at hand and push through the front door to wave her down. “Good morning!” Vincent said, as loud as he could without shouting at her. I mean, he’s a respectable guy. “Could I interest you in some… not-completely-terrible break room coffee?”

[ziggysarcana]

Testing

[ziggysarcana]

Walking through the picturesque streets of Cardinal Hill, you find Vincent Sullivan, the 30 year old Barber at Main Street Barber Shop originally from Branson, MO. Living alongside them in such a small town, you know that they're resourceful and stubborn, but what you might not know is that they are a human, and that they’re hiding something… ― Christian Bale, bisexual, cis-male, and he/him.

visage ♱ threads ♱ moodboards ♱ prompts

Name: Vincent Roy Sullivan

Alias: Vince

Gender/Pronouns: Cis male, He/Him

Age: 30

Date of Birth: 12/03

Big Three: *please let me compute this later*

Height: 6’0”

Hometown: Branson, Missouri, USA

Time in CH: 5 years

Occupation: Barber

Family: N/A

Friends: N/A

Relationship Status: Single

Sexuality: Bisexual (he’s in a glass closet but doesn’t even know it yet,)

Other Relationships: N/A

Character Inspiration: Kayce Dutten - Yellowstone, Llewelyn Moss - No Country for Old Men, Johnny Cash

Biography

Vincent Roy Sullivan was born and raised in Branson, Missouri. A town where two things were certain: music and God. Highway 76– a Testament to both. He’s the middle son of a working-class Irish-American family. His father, a hardworking mechanic who believed in discipline and hard work. And of course, always keeping emotions locked away. While his mother, a devout and soft spoken school teacher, tried to keep the household in place with obedience and prayer.

The Sullivan brothers. Three boys with more wildness in them than rigorous discipline could ever break, were raised on bloody knuckles, never ending summer nights and the permanent itch of escaping their small town.

His older brother was, stereotypically, the responsible one. Obedient one. The one who always followed the rules. The one their father trusted to take over the family business. His younger brother was forever restless, a careless dreamer with a sharp tongue. Always talking about leaving and never looking back. And Vincent? He was somewhere in between worlds. Quick with his wit, charming when he wanted to be but still not quite satisfied with what life had handed him.

The Sullivan household wasn’t unloving. But it was the kind of place where love needed to be proven. Where love was shown rather than spoken. Their fathers approval was measured in head nods and silence rather than praise. Then there was mothers love. Though boundless, often too many times had been whispered only in the quiet moments between arguments.

Teenage Years and Beyond

Vincent always had been good with his hands. When he wasn’t attempting to help his father in the shop, he was fixing things. Bikes, radios, split knuckles. But what he had a real natural talent for was— cutting hair. A skill he picked up from his mother, after watching her trim nearly every head in their parish at the kitchen table. It became a side hustle, one that earned him some pocket change. Pocket change he didn’t need but thought suited him nonetheless.

He had a particular knack for getting into a particular kind of trouble. Not the kind that got you locked up, the kind that got you a reputation. Vince, always quick with a smile but even quicker with a sharp word or a well placed punch… when the moment called for it. People liked him, but they could never quite trust him. Back then, he liked it that way.

And then there were the nights. Endless summer nights where the air smelled of gasoline and kicked-up dust. Where his friends all sat on the hoods of their cars, drinking malt liquor and staring out at the dark horizon. Wondering what else could be out there.

He knew there had to be something else. Branson had felt all too small for him. The town had its charm of course but for a boy like Vincent— bright-eyes, restless, ambitious. Always looking for something more… it felt like a dead end road. His younger brother always talked a big talk about leaving and heading west. Surely, to find something better. Vincent listened; half believing it, also half knowing that some people never really leave a place like Branson.

He wasn’t really sure what he wanted, but he knew it wasn’t this. Perfectly placed pillows and smiles, church every Sunday.

When Vincent turned 18 he left Branson with nothing but a duffel bag, a straight razor and a head full of dreams. The road became his home. He made himself familiar with long stretches of asphalt, dirty bus stations and nameless diners. It didn’t take him long to learn that survival was a skill and he was good at it. He didn’t have any real destination in mind, just the knowledge that he couldn’t stay. The road, ever wide and sometimes empty, decided where he’d go next.

For years — he drifted. Big cities, small towns, places that didn’t even have names. He passed through them all. Never staying too long in one place. Vincent kept his belly full and his path fruitful by doing what he did best. Some towns needed a barber, that he could do. Others needed bartenders, and he was great at picking up instructions. Quickly, he learned they were pretty similar jobs. Both needed an easy smile and the ability to read people before they even sat down.

In the Midwest, he picked up shifts at dive bars, where he poured drinks for men who looked like they’d been running far longer than he had. Down south, he worked for an old barber who didn’t ask many questions and paid in cash. When he first made it out West, he worked in a fancy shop with giant windows and expensive leather chairs. The big city men liked the way he could clean them up good without making them look like they tried too hard.

He never stayed long, never made promises. The road had a certain rhythm to it that he liked. He could be anyone and go anywhere. But there were some nights, where the world was too quiet and the neon signs flickered just right, something in the air would shift. A whisper of a memory. The feeling that no matter how many miles were between him and the past, it would find him anyways. What was the point? At this point in his life.

By the time he reached Cardinal Hill; Vincent was tired. In his bones. In a way that made the thought of leaving again feel heavier than the thought of just staying. Tucked away in the trees, he found work in the local barber shop and settled into a routine. For the first time in years, he’s let himself believe he might be done running.

Headcannons

Despite enjoying the quiet of sleeping under the stars in the past, Vincent can’t sleep in silence now. He always needs a record playing or the fan on.

No matter how late he’s stayed up, he rises early every morning.

Vincent can dance— but he only knows how to Waltz. His mother insisted all the boys learn. He pretends it’s stupid but really he remembers every step.

When life gets too overwhelming, sometimes he’ll just sit outside and watch the stars.

While not religious anymore, Vincent still carries a rosary around in his pocket at all times.

He also carries a lighter in his pocket even though he quit smoking 3 years ago.

{I will add more to this later as they come to me}

Wanted Connections

current friends: drinking buddies, chess partners, anything in between.

old friends from the road: someone he met on the open road. Maybe they ran scams together. Or maybe they just shared too many bottles and stories under flickering gas station lights.

shop regulars and newcomers: maybe they come in for a monthly trim and stay way past their appointment time, chatting the day away or maybe they’re new and not into small talk.

neighbors: Vincent lives in a modest trailer in the trailer park. He’d be a great neighbor, trying to get everyone together for dinner or just to shoot the shit.

ex lovers: someone from Branson, his path around the country or Cardinal Hill, this can range from casual flings to high school sweethearts.

current lovers: self explanatory, open to fwb, casual flings, unrequited love, crushes or a real relationship but for the latter I would prefer we see if there’s chemistry present.

enemies/frenemies; Vincent is a bit of a chatty Cathy and sometimes he doesn’t know when to shut his mouth, especially when he’s drinking. So it wouldn’t be surprising if he’s made a few people dislike him or vice versa.

Older Brother: The Golden Boy (open)

Younger Brother: The Dreamer (open)

feel free to approach me with any ideas you may have !

[ziggysarcana]

Christian Bale as Batman/Bruce Wayne in The Dark Knight (2008) dir. Christopher Nolan

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Vincent “Vince” Sullivan moodboard

“Whoever fights monsters should see to it that he does not become a monster. And if you gaze long enough into an abyss, the abyss also gazes into you.” – Beyond Good and Evil, Nietzsche

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i dissolved sugar into warm ink, sipped it slowly, pretending it could sweeten the story i could not finish.

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Haiku

by Karen Yuan

Have we met? The way we navigate this far, tired planet is the same

[ziggysarcana]

Clarice Lispector, from The Complete Stories of Clarice Lispector; "Brasília,"

[ziggysarcana]

for: @pandemoniumfm (Morgan) location: Romano's autoshop

It was nearing Christmas -- and while Ludwig didn't have kids, he felt like a kid himself as the stores started rolling out new toys. He had strolled through the aisles for an embarrassing amount of time, ogling at all the gadgets and figurines. A boyish grin plastered to his lips. When the cashier asked if the water gun he ended up purchasing was for his child; he simply responded "It's for me. I'm going to torment my coworker."

So now, here he was -- creeping. Creeping up to the open hood in the shop. Peaking around the corner, hoping that Morgan had made it before he did. Ludwig had to stop his excited shout as he spotted the other man. Perfect. His finger wrapped around the trigger. Muscle memory taking over. He pressed his back against the wall, waiting for the right moment. When Morgan started to whistle a showtune, he sprang from his hiding spot and squirted water at the back of his head. A perfect shot, a now useless skill except for in this precise moment. An eruption of giggles exploded from his lips and he scrambled back around the corner, thinking that he was very slick and hilarious. Evident by the smirk on his lips and the mischievous glint in his eyes.

[ziggysarcana]

for: @wcirdo

location: Riverside Bookstore

Joel swiped a few drops of the lingering drizzle off of his jacket before he stepped inside of Riverside Books. The aroma of wood polish and paper always a comfort to him, a nostalgic reminder of all the afternoons spent there after school. Absentmindedly flipping through pages, cracking jokes while Rooney attempted to organize the shelves. “Roo!” Joel called out, his voice soft but still carrying through the store. His eyes darted around the shelves as he held up a small, neatly wrapped package. He couldn’t spot them right away, figuring they were tucked somewhere among the isles.

He didn’t wait for a reply before he wandered to the check out area. Joel set the package down and then leaned his elbows on the counter as he waited. “A woman came into the shop yesterday trying to get rid of this thing.” He continued “The second I saw it I knew you needed it.” Inside the package was a polished brass letter opener that was in the shape of a crescent moon.

“Thought you might like it,” he said “no more dealing with paper cuts when you’re tearing into your correspondence or book orders.” Truth be told — it was the truth. He thought they might like it, but he was also bored. His brother told him he was working too hard and to go do something. Only problem was, he wasn’t sure what to do. A perfect excuse to go chat with an old friend — if they weren’t bustling with customers currently, of course. Joel understood the ways of running a shop.

[ziggysarcana]

for: @boris-themenace

location: Hallowed Woods

Shira was crouched among ferns, her fingers ghosting leaves as she searched for the yellow calendula that was peaking beneath. She had a small basket hanging on her arm. Half full, yarrow and lavender poking out above the handles. She was humming a quiet melody to herself and the trees, an old lullaby. The salve Shira had planned to make with this fauna wasn’t only practical — it was personal to her. Her cheeks dusted pink as the thought of delivering it crept into her mind. Probably why she was so distracted today.

She stood to stretch in the branch filtered sunlight when a twig snapping caught her ear. Frantic — she turned her head toward the commotion and froze in her spot.

A camera that was very professional looking, perched on a tripod not even twenty feet away. A figure behind it moving with purpose, adjusting the lens. It took her a few seconds to come to the realization that she was basically ruining their shot. “Oh, fuck!” Shira muttered as she lurched, scrambling to move out of the way — basket swinging. In her hurried movements her foot snagged on a root and she was barely able to catch herself before she face planted into a bed of moss.

“Sorry!” She blurted, her lips bursting into a wry and apologetic smile. A wave accompanied her words. “So sorry!” Shira awkwardly crouched now, to gather a sprig that had tumbled from the woven basket. “I didn’t reali- I didn’t see you there, I’ll get out of your way now.”

[ziggysarcana]

[ziggysarcana]

for: @tabithaelicot location: Hometown Grocers time: post Thanksgiving dinner

Joel's gaze was flitting across the selection of cheese in the deli of the local grocer when he saw her. Tabitha. The person he had first loved, perhaps the only person he ever loved so fiercely. She was an angelic vision, of course. Always was. Just out of the corner of his eye, he was unsure if his mind was playing tricks. So, he attempted to look over at her casually, just enough movement to see whether or not his suspicions were correct. But no, it really was her and not some sleepy town, post turkey mirage. He ticked his head back forward as he wracked his brain for something to say, he would be remiss to only say 'hello'. She was carrying wine. A ridiculous amount of wine, too much wine for the Tabitha he knew. Various kinds, all piled up in her arms.

Not being able to help himself, he steps towards her and with a click of his tongue, he drawled "Young lady, that's an awful lot wine for one person." He couldn’t let himself just stare at her, he had to say something. Even if there never could be the perfect thing to say. An amused smile twitched at his lips as he said it, eyes searching her face and trying to gauge her reaction. Joel raised an eyebrow, asking “Do you need a hand with that?”

[ziggysarcana]

[ziggysarcana]

Walking through the picturesque streets of Cardinal Hill, you find Joel Cassius Durant, the 29 year old Bazaar Exchange pawn shop owner and shopkeeper originally from Cardinal Hill, Washington. Living alongside them in such a small town, you know that they're strategic, eccentric and self-sabotaging, but what you might not know is that they are a witch, and that they’re hiding something… ― LaKeith Stanfield, bisexual, gender fluid, and he/they.

Name: Joel "Cash" Cassius Durant (Joe-el)

Alias: Cash, Jo, El

Gender/Pronouns: Genderfluid , He/They

Age: 29

Birthdate: 07/20/1963

Big Three: Leo, Virgo, Libra

Occupation: Bazaar Exchange pawn shop owner and shopkeeper

Height: 6'0"

Hometown: Cardinal Hill, Washington

Family: Imani Durant (mother), Cassius Morrison (father), Micah Durant (brother), Goldie Green (maternal cousin)

Friends: Lorelei Bauer (ritualove)

Relationship Status: single

Sexuality: pansexual

Other Relationships:

Character Inspiration: Kendall Roy - Succession, Ambrose Spellman - Chilling Adventures of Sabrina, Ryuk - Death Note, Jordan Belfort, Jack Kelly - Newsies, Data - Star Trek TNG

Joel Cassius Durant was born at the stroke of the afternoon, in the quiet town of Cardinal Hill, Washington. The circumstances were unconventional even from the start. His mother Imani and his father Cassius were never married. In fact, their relationship had resembled a lightbulb. One that grows bright and brighter until it quickly fizzles out. Imani, a witch with a deep rooted connection to the natural world and a long lineage of witches; was a free spirit who felt confined by society's expectations but did her best to raise Joel. Cassius was a wandering soul, searching for his place in a world where he felt that he had never belonged. Imani raised him on her own for the most part, save for the help she would receive from her mother, her sister and her brother in law. She is a fiercely independent woman who weaved her craft with a regular lifestyle, what she thought was best for her sons. She was often misunderstood by the humans around her. To everyone else, she was an eccentric recluse who dabbled in the occult. She could often be seen walking around with not so much as a sock covering her feet, having conversations with plants or sending her sons to school with strange smelling teas. To Joel, she was just mom. An enigmatic and powerful woman who instilled within him a deep respect for the world. She was also the owner of a cozy pawn shop on the edge of town -- selling, buying and trading all kinds of wares, magical and normal items alike.

He grew up feeling as if magic was as natural as taking a breath, or the way blood pumps without you having to will it to do so. But he leaned, with haste, that the world wasn't always as it seemed. His mother taught him from a young age to listen, carefully, to the indiscernible vibrations of this dimension and others. To decipher the signs it gave. Imani never hid her witchcraft from him. She had him around all the time so this meant he was able to watch in on rituals and spellwork. Joel particularly enjoyed watching her heal others. One thing she wanted her children to know, and they do; magic is not only a gift but it's a responsibility. Imani often said "what you take from the world, you must always give back". A philosophy that has stuck with him his entire life.

His father on the other hand, was a presence in his life but he learned that he wasn't a permanent one. He would drift in and out of Cardinal Hill, sometimes offering only brief moments. Despite all of this, Joel knew that his father loved him. He never doubted it. Some of his best memories happened during the stints that lasted months. He inherited from him a restless energy. One that had led him to dream of something more. Something more than a small town. Often times Joel would dream of joining his father on his travels, perhaps to a far away country. Somewhere new to feel the energy of, maybe bring back his mother some cool tchotchkes for the shop.

As a child, his parentage made the brothers stand out like a sore thumb. Joel was often bullied by his classmates for being an odd and quiet little boy. Kids would whisper, call him names or tease him. Especially when he tried to share with the other kids the things his mother had taught him. His brother Micah was always there for him, telling off the other kids if he ever saw this. But as he grew older, in his teen years; something shifted. Joel grew taller, more handsome and undeniably charming. People started to actually warm up to him and he wasn't just the weird kid anymore. He was just the guy with the sweet smile and the quick wit. He remained reserved though, skeptical of others. And Joel didn't really belong to anyone, not like everyone else seemed to. He was still, underneath it all, the kid who felt like he didn't fit the mold of society's expectations. People started liking him, sure -- but he never truly opened up to many. Stuck with the thought that no matter how accepted he was, no one would ever truly understand them.

By the time he had turned 18 he had such a desire to break free from Cardinal Hill and explore the world beyond. Joel had leaned everything his mother could ever teach about magic and about Washington, but he wanted to explore beyond that. He had a deep respect for everything she had given him, his skills and the shop but he could never really envision himself taking on the life that Imani wanted for him. Her world was one of isolation and intrsopection, but he didn't want that to be the all encompassing theme of his life. Spellwork and the shop. God! It made him sick to think about. He wanted, nay, needed to see the city lights and feel the pulse of the world under his fingertips. Where people chased their dreams and didn't give a damn what got in their way. He needed that. So when he was 19, he finally said goodbye and moved to the big city. New York City, of course. Where he arrived with a backpack and eyes full of wonder. Imani supported her son's dreams, as much as she could. She tried to see it as a pit stop in his bigger journey. A journey that would hopefully lead back home. Before Joel left, she gave him a warning: "If you give the city an inch, they will take a mile. Be careful what you trade for your dream."

Joel's life when he first arrived in New York was, for the lack of a better word, good. Better than someone would expect for coming to a big city with no job or somewhere to sleep. It was exhilarating but it was a hustle. He worked a number of odd job's in the beginning to get by. Delivery boy for a local florist, waitstaff for a catering company, and cleaning Wall Street toilets. They never quite settled into one thing, trying to do as much as he could and as efficiently as he could. Always moving, always doing better. There was no way he was going to let his mother and his brother down. And besides, this pace suited him. He reveled in everything about the city -- the nightlife, the food, the people! Joel wanted to devour this city, make it his own. It was during this time that a new friend had shown him the world of back door betting and card games. This was a world that dangled everything he ever wanted in front of his nose; it's saccharine scent lingering in his nostrils for too long for him to ignore. Wealth, freedom, power. Joel quickly moved into these circles -- his charismatic personality enabling him to gain this access.

Bets were made here by the flick of the wrist and games stretched late into the night. Reputations built and shattered simultaneously. With a single hand of cards. It didn't take long for him to become a regular. He gained a bit of a reputation for being an incredibly lucky high takes gambler; or perhaps, he just was that good. Charm, wit and his intuition helped push him to places he could only dream. He found himself rolling in cash. But the higher you climb, the higher the stakes. The line between reward and ruin was thinner than the threads of the universe itself. For a while, he was the man on top -- he had everything he ever wanted. But Joel learned the hard way that if you play with fire long enough, you'll eventually get burned.

When Joel was 27 he found himself at the proverbial rock bottom. His luck had ran dry. He found himself in a situation that gave him no way out. He made the hardest decision of his life and returned home to Cardinal Hill with his tail between his legs. Even though his relationship with his mother was complicated, she welcomed him back home with open arms. As all mothers do. Joel never spoke about what happened and she never pushed him to open up; afraid he might break. Imani offered him the old pawn shop, hoping it would give him a sense of purpose, and to be honest, she was getting too old to run it all by herself. It wasn't the life he had envisiioned for himself but it was a chance to rebuild his life. To gain some normalcy and security. Not wanting to be 'the guy who lives with his mom', he moved in with his brother for a year until he saved up enough to get a trailer in the local park. One he's very proud of.

Now at 29, he is proud to run the cozy and magical Bazaar Exchange. It has it's own peculiar mystique; a place where memories seemed to linger and lost things found their home.

He is more guarded than he used to be and much more introspective. More wise now than ambitious. Joel mostly keeps his personal life to himself, hiding his past with a wry smile. Cardinal Hill, a place where he used to feel trapped, has turned into somewhat of a refuge for him. Keeping the danger at more than an arms length. Though most don't know the full extent of his daunting past, it continues to haunt him. He's not just an eccentric shopkeeper or a talented witch -- he's a man who has seen the true underbelly of the world and felt the crushing weight of failure. Even crawled through that weight with his sanity mostly in tact. His magic remains quieter than his mothers, but all the resident's of Cardinal Hill know they can come to him for help with magic. Like a well of ancient knowledge.

Additional Information/Headcannons

His name is pronounced 'Joe-el', not 'Jol'. If you mispronounce it on accident he will politely correct you but if you think it's funny to do it on purpose, he won't even respond. He's known to say 'on Christmas, do you sing 'Nol! Nol! Nol!' no? it's Joel, like Noel, get it right!'

Joel is very superstitious. Especially when it comes to numbers. 7 is his lucky number, and he always looks for it in everything; even better if it's in a succession of 3.

He likes to convince people that he has a keen ability to find lost things, but really it's because he calls on Saint Anthony for help. The holy saint of all lost things.

Joel can't stand formalities or small talk. He's always been a rebel when it comes to societies expectations and rules.

Despite this, ironically, he is always on time. If he's late, then it's time to worry about where he is. It just drives him crazy to be late to anything, never wanting to run behind schedule.

He wears one of his father's old watches, at all times. Except for when he's in the shower.

Joel is obsessed with the moon and has an unexplainable connection to it. He has a large collection of moon themed trinkets; pendants, decor and sketches.

Wanted Connections:

ex lovers: someone from New York or Cardinal Hill, this can range from casual flings to high school sweethearts.

friends: drinking buddies, witchy friends, friends to play soccer with or parlay, or just regular pals

shop regulars and newcomers: customers who haggle successfully or unsuccessfully, fresh faces, anything in between.

spellwork clients: anyone struggling with spell casting or divination may come to him and ask for help. Joel is happy to give it.

feel free to approach me with any ideas you may have !